I Love Tacos
by juneprota
Summary: *SLASH* Warrick has something to tell Greg. GregWarrick


**I Love Tacos**

"Would you just leave already?" Warrick placed another folded t-shirt into his mostly-packed duffle bag.

Nick didn't move from his position on the bed. "You and Greg are going on vacation...together."

Warrick didn't look up from his packing. "It's just a few days."

"It's a vacation...together. This is serious man."

Warrick finally gave in and looked at his friend. "What in the hell are you talking about?"

"You don't take a chick on--" Nick corrected himself at Warrick's glare. "You don't take the person you're sleeping with on vacation unless the person you're sleeping with is more than the person you're sleeping with."

Warrick stared at his friend. "Did you seriously expect me to follow that?"

"You're in love with Greggo." Nick got hit in the face with a pillow for his trouble. "What? It's true. So, have you told him yet?"

Warrick's jaw tightened. "Why would I tell him something that isn't true?"

Nick grinned. His buddy wasn't fooling anyone. "Oh, so you're going to tell him on this little romantic getaway you have planned? Damn, man. That's smooth. Whisk him away. Wine him. Dine him. Tell him you love him. You'll have him eating out the palm of your hand for at least a few weeks." Another pillow hit Nick in the face. "You're out of pillows, bro."

"Fuck you. And this isn't a romantic getaway. We're going to a museum. The Experience Music Project is supposed to be a big deal. We both wanted to check it out. We both had some vacation days to use up. No big deal."

"Right." Nick drawled. "So, you're both going there to geek out over music and science and impress each other with how much you know and that's gonna take what, Warrick? 3 hours? 4 hours? You're taking 5 days off. And you're driving there. That's three days of driving and sleeping in hotel rooms. Just admit it. This whole trip is just so you can tell Greg you l--" Warrick tackled Nick, holding a pillow over his friend's head.

Someone cleared their throat. "Do I even want to know?"

Warrick looked up to smile at his boyfriend standing in the doorway. "Just friends goofing off, you know." Nick was still struggling beneath him. Warrick turned back to him. "If you say a fucking word Nick, I'll tell Gris you have a crush on him. And you know he'd believe me." Warrick lifted the pillow, but kept Nick pinned with his weight.

Nick took a deep breath. "He would not."

Rick ran a hand up his friend's side, light enough to tickle. "Everyone already thinks you're sensitive, Nicky. Won't take much convincing. And I'm Gris's favorite. I could tell him the sky's purple and he'd look."

Nick shoved Warrick away and Warrick let him...because, really, there's no way Nick's overpowering Warrick unless Warrick's letting him."Fuck you." He turned to Greg. "Would you take your fuckin' boyfriend already and go wherever the hell you two are going."

Warrick stood up. "You're in my apartment, hoss. You don't get to order anyone around. Greg's staying. I'm staying. And you're leaving. I'll even translate for you." Warrick put on his worst Texas accent. "Go on now, git."

XXXXXXXXXX

Warrick slipped on his shades and batted Greg's hand away from the radio. "Driver's choice."

"I'm not listening to hip-hop all the way to Seattle, Warrick."

"Well, I'm not listening to that cheesy ass pop, Greg."

"Metal?"

"Yeah, right."

"Punk."

"Try again."

Greg sighed and slid on his own sunglasses. "Classic rock it is then." It was their usual compromise.

Warrick didn't argue and didn't slap Greg's hand away from the radio when he reached for the tuner.

XXXXXXXXXX

Mid-day Warrick stopped to fill up on gas. Greg walked out of the gas station with a bagful of things, just as Warrick screwed on the gas cap. Once they were back on the road, he pulled out a root beer and guzzled half of it. He set it down to open up a bag of Cheetos, popped a few into his mouth and pulled a book from the bag. Greg set the bag of Cheetos on the floor between his legs, and Warrick watched as he left cheesy orange thumbprints on the book. "Man, that's disgusting."

"You love it." Greg licked his fingers and wiped his hand on his jeans. He flipped a few pages until he found a question he liked. "So, Warrick, are you a person of thought or action?"

"Depends on the situation."

Greg not so discreetly coughed over the words "cop out."

"What? It's the truth.

"Elaborate."

"Well, I'm a scientist, so thought. But in certain situations I act."

"What about your personal life?"

"I act on my thoughts...sometimes. Does that count?" He didn't need Greg to answer that question. "Alright, man of thought. What about you?"

"Action. Definitely. Sometimes I wish I could just stop and think before I make an ass of myself. Usually doesn't work that way though."

Warrick smiled. "Yeah, you do have a bad case of foot-in-mouth syndrome." He got a Cheeto thrown at his head for his trouble.

XXXXXXXXXX

Warrick pulled off the expressway and into a hotel parking lot, as Greg read yet another question from his new little book. "Would you rather be physically strong, mentally strong, or possess a lot of stamina?"

"It's all about the stamina, man." Warrick slid his eyes to Greg. "What about you?"

Greg nodded. "Um, yeah, what you said."

They checked into the hotel with a minimum of fuss. As soon as they entered the room, Greg started looking for carryout menues. He struck gold with a Pizza Hut that delivered. Greg stuck his head in the bathroom, where Warrick was taking a shower. "Is pizza okay?"

"Yeah that's fine."

"What do you want on it?"

Warrick knew if he let Greg order what he always ordered, he'd end up spending more time picking anchovies and pinapple off his pizza than actually eating it. But he was too tired to debate what constituted suitable pizza toppings. "Whatever you want, Greg."

XXXXXXXXX

Greg ate over half the pizza and almost immediately regretted it. He rolled around on the bed, "God, my stomach hurts so much. I'm dying."

Warrick looked away from the game playing on television to Greg. "Want me to rub it and make it better?

Greg flopped onto his back. "That's exactly what I want you to do."

Warrick slipped his hand underneath the bottom of Greg's shirt, fingers moving from his happy trail to his belly button before resting higher on Greg's stomach. Greg pulled Warrick's head down for a kiss before taking Warrick's hand and moving it lower.

"I thought you said you were dying."

"All the more reason then right?" Greg wiggled his eyebrows.

Warrick leaned down to kiss Greg, fingers sliding into blond hair. He pulled away to look at Greg, all dark eyes and kiss-bruised lips. "You know, I think I..." The words got caught in his throat.

Greg urged him on. "You think what?"

"I think...I think I've gotta take a piss. I'll be right back." Warrick pecked Greg on the lips, got out of bed, and walked into the bathroom. He closed the door behind him and leaned against the hard wood. He needed to get a grip and calm the speeding beat of his heart. He took a few deep breaths and opened the door.

Greg was already asleep, curled up on one side of the bed.

XXXXXXXXXX

Warrick was putting money into a rest stop vending machine, when Greg came out holding a flyer. Naturally Warrick thought it was going to be something about a concert or a pie-eating contest...something that would catch the attention of his bizzare boyfriend. "An art fair?

"Yeah."

"You want to go to an art fair?" Warrick was skeptical.

"Sure. I'm tired of sitting and thanks to your illegally fast driving we're way ahead of schedule. Come on it'll be fun." As if Warrick could say "no" to Greg.

They spent few hours at the art fair. Greg dragged Warrick from booth to booth, buying tarot cards and dream weavers...things they both knew he'd never use. Warrick had just finish paying for some variation of meat on a stick when he was dragged to a jewelry booth. "We should totally get friendship bracelets. BFs for life."

Warrick looked over the beads on string. "Not quite my style man."

Greg slid his eyes to his boyfriend and asked teasingly. "Afraid of commitment, Warrick?"

"Look who's talking. I don't recall you being a big fan of forever."

Greg took Warrick's hand and pulled him toward another booth. "Things change, Vegas. Pay attention."

XXXXXXXXXX

They were back on the road within a half hour and Greg was back to asking questions from his little book. "What sin are you most familiar with? Oh wait, I know the answer to this one." Greg put his hand to his forehead as if he were receiving a premonition. "Warrick Brown's greatest sin is lust."

Warrick smirked. "Shame it's even a sin, right?"

"Aren't you going to guess mine?"

"Man, you're a bigger slut than I am. At least I stick around for a few months. You on the other hand..." Greg was infamous for his string of one-night stands.

"Oh, so that's your modus operandi? Date a guy for awhile, make him fall for you, and dump him when you get bored? Sounds kind of harsh, Rick. At least my approach is straight forward. Ready for another question?"

Warrick sighed. "I don't have much of a choice do I?"

"No you don't." Greg flipped randomly toward the end of the book, searching for a suitable question. "What food best describes your--it says spouse--but we'll say significant other."

"Significant other?"

"I'm significant aren't I?"

Warrick didn't answer that question, instead focusing on the original one. "Twizzlers."

"Twizzlers?"

"Twizzlers are sweet. More satiating, satisfying, filling than other candies though. Pieces get stuck in my teeth....And they make me think about sex."

Greg nodded. "Okay, first, what doesn't make you think about sex? And second, what does them getting stuck in your teeth have to do with anything?"

"Even when I'm done with them, they're still around. You get under my skin."

"I'd say chocolate."

"Lame. Easy answer."

"What? You're sweet. Okay, I'd say beef jerky." Greg started flipping through the book for another question.

"No way, man. You gotta explain that one."

Greg sighed. "Beef jerky is tough, hard work. Always worth it though. Sometimes it's so spicy it burns. Other times it's as sweet as sugar."

Warrick hummed and nodded thoughtfully. "Next question."

XXXXXXXXXX

They made it to Seattle that evening but decided to skip the museum and check into their hotel. Warrick took a shower as Greg ordered take out. By the time the food arrived, they were both freshly showered and dressed for bed. Greg in a pair of boxer shorts. Warrick in a pair of sweats. Warrick was always cold, which Greg never understood. Warrick's body produced an abnormal amount of body heat. He was a living, breathing furnace. Greg would break into a sweat every time they shared a bed.

Warrick watched as Greg started on his third taco. Greg had taco sauce on the corner of his mouth and was currently licking sauce from his fingers, which Warrick had told him again and again was a disgusting habit. "I love--" Warrick stopped. Greg looked up from his food and said "Hmm?" around a mouthful of food. Warrick cleared his throat. "I love tacos." He bit into his own taco and mumbled around his food. "We should definitely get Mexican tomorrow for lunch."

Greg had swallowed and was looking at Warrick carefully. "Sure. Whatever you say, Rick."

XXXXXXXXXX

They were in front of the museum doors before the place opened, and were some of the last to leave. Greg was talking a mile a minute about everything they'd seen and heard as they walked through the hotel. They entered their room and Warrick pulled Greg closer to him, interrupting him mid-sentence. "I love you."

Greg laughed. "I know you do. 'I love tacos?' What the hell was that?" Greg was still laughing.

"Shut up." Warrick tried his hardest to look stern, but Greg's laughter was getting to him. He gave up and smiled. "Aren't you going to say it back?"

Greg schooled his face to a serious expression. "I love tacos, Rick."

"Fuck you." The harsh words were colored with affection.

Greg wrapped his arms around Warrick and before he kissed him he said, "Yeah, you better. Because I love you...and tacos."

The End


End file.
